


Human Shield

by watcherofworlds



Series: Whumptober 2019 [4]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Episode: s02e07 State v. Queen, Prompt Fill, Whumptober, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 03:30:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20900933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watcherofworlds/pseuds/watcherofworlds
Summary: Prompt fill for Whumptober Day 4 "Human Shield"





	Human Shield

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another 2x07 fic. Lord help me I am back on my bullshit.

As Oliver stalked past the windows of the conference room, he felt a sick twist in his stomach at what he saw through them- Felicity, tied by her wrists to a chair, and behind her the Count, playing with her ponytail, running his fingers languorously through it.

“Pretty swanky offices,” he said when Oliver stepped in the doorway, leaning around Felicity. “You can see all the destruction that your mom caused from up here.” He got to his feet, gesturing expansively as he did.

“What do you want?” Oliver growled. He spoke to the Count, but his eyes were on Felicity. He could see how terrified she was, and he felt his heart rate tick upward a few beats per minute in response to her fear.

“World peace and personal satisfaction,” the Count replied with a shrug. “Though not necessarily in that order.” He put his hands on Felicity’s shoulders, gripped them tightly, and she whimpered.

“You poisoned me and put me in a hole,” the Count went on in a snarl, leaning forward, his grip on Felicity’s shoulders tightening even more, to the point where there was no possibility that it wasn’t hurting her. “You have no idea how much I hated you for that. Turns out, someone else hates you too.”

“Who?” Oliver demanded.

“Oh ho, you’re going to be surprised when you find out,” the Count chuckled. “He’s a man of means. He set me up with my new operation so I could draw you out.”

“To do what?” Oliver asked, his voice coming out in a low, fierce growl as he struggled to keep the rage he felt at the sight of Felicity threatened and terrified in check.

“This!” the Count shouted, pulling a gun from somewhere on his person and taking a shot at Oliver. He dodged, and it hit the window behind him, shattering it. More shots followed him as he ran for cover. He felt one graze his arm in a flash of white-hot agony, but he ignored it. It wasn’t important right now.

“You’re going to have to try harder!” he shouted, crouching behind a couch in the room adjacent to the conference room, trying to draw the Count out of it and away from Felicity.

“Done!” the Count shouted. A bullet thudded into the couch, and then another smashed into the tea service on the end table beside it with the tinkling crash of shattering crockery. His aim was getting closer. If Oliver didn’t move, he was going to get hit. Still in a crouch, he moved out from behind the couch and, keeping his movements silent, sought cover in the only place he could in an area with so many windows- clinging desperately to a ceiling beam.

From the conference room, Oliver heard the Count shout “Come on!” followed by the sound of something being slammed down on the table and Felicity’s pained whimper, then footsteps, two sets, moving out of the room. He felt his heart seize with fear. If the Count had Felicity, that meant his hands were tied. If he used her as a human shield, which seemed to be his intention, there was nothing he wouldn’t be able to get away with, because Oliver knew he would do anything the Count asked of him, comply with any demand he made of him, to avoid compromising her safety.

The footsteps grew louder, until they passed by below him. When they’d moved on, Oliver dropped soundlessly from the ceiling to see the Count gripping Felicity by her hair, holding his gun straight out in front of him, about to move around the side of the couch he thought Oliver was still hiding behind. He drew back his bow, and the Count turned at the sound.

“So now we move on to Plan B!” he shouted, slamming his gun down on a table nearby. He pulled needles full of Vertigo, enough to deliver a fatal overdose, from his inner coat pocket and pressed their tips against the side of Felicity’s neck. Oliver reacted instinctively, taking aim at the Count’s heart.

“Oliver don’t, not for me!” Felicity cried out in a trembling voice. His heart ached at the fact that she was only concerned with saving his soul, that she couldn’t see that the only thing that mattered to him was _her_. He would have gladly lost his soul to the darkness again if it meant saving her life.

“Quiet please, I’m threatening,” the Count growled. Turning his cold gaze on Oliver, he said, in that same growl, “Lower. Your bow.” Oliver did as he asked, tossing the arrow he’d had nocked off to the side, far out of his reach, where it clattered against the floor with a metallic ringing sound.

“Your problem is with me,” he said, fighting to keep the fear out of his voice. “It’s not with her.”

“Well then, consider this your penalty for making me go to Plan B in the first place,” the Count replied coldly. He pulled the needles back to inject their deadly contents into Felicity’s neck and end her life forever. In the same instant, Oliver reacted, loosing three arrow, rapid fire, without even thinking about it. They struck the Count in the chest, one after the other, in a neat line. The force of their impact with his body pushed the Count backwards through the already cracked window behind him, and he plummeted toward the street hundreds of feet below in a shower of broken glass. Oliver lowered his bow, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath to compose himself as the Count tumbled out of sight. It all sunk in in that moment- he’d killed again. He’d broken the vow he’d made to honor Tommy’s memory. But he didn’t regret it, couldn’t make himself regret it, because, in doing so, he had saved Felicity’s life.


End file.
